


Backseat Driver

by Missy



Category: Laverne & Shirley (TV)
Genre: Beer, Begging, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Clothed Sex, Drinking, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, Hopeful Ending, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Trucks, Vaginal Fingering, necking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: I solemnly swear I will never tell another living soul that I told Lenny Kosnowski to make me come in the front seat of his truck.Or: a little bit of booze and a lot of praise kink change Laverne and Lenny's relationship - possibly for good, but definitely for better.
Relationships: Laverne DeFazio/Lenny Kosnowski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Backseat Driver

Laverne will blame it on the beer, later, even though she isn’t remotely drunk when Lenny pulls up to Inspiration Point in the truck. They’ve been cruising the neighborhood all night, and the moon is high. It’s Friday, almost Saturday, actually, and the air is thick and humid. Laverne can almost taste the heat and exhaust on the tip of her tongue. They’ve been paid, and they’re old enough to know better, young enough not to care.

Lenny’s taken her out driving because neither of them can coax Shirley or Squiggy out – because they’re both hard up, she’ll tell Shirley later, an excuse that holds less and less water the more time she spends alone with Lenny. They’re having a good time – as friends, she insists – when they park to drink and stare up at the moon.

“There you go, Laverne,” he said, taking her empty and tossing it over his shoulder. “Y’wanna another?”

“Sure.” She’s on her fifth, which is, to a person with hollow legs like hers, a normal person’s second.

“It’s all on the house. These were rejects from a delivery to Cheboygan,” he said. “They wanted more cans.”

“Aww. You’re so nice, Len.” Her tone is mock-syrupy and usually he catches her sarcasm like a knife thrower and takes it into his heart with a wince. 

This time – probably because of the booze - he giggles and his ears turn red. “Thanks, Laverne.”

Sighing, she reaches over the gear shaft to grab another Shotz. They are chilled and sitting in the gap between the seat and the floor of the truck between Lenny’s legs. Unfortunately, Laverne’s aim is off – her hand splayed open against the crotch of his coveralls instead. 

She realizes, suddenly and instantly, how much of an effect her nice words have had on him.

“Lenny!” she gasps – partially because of the size of the bulge under her hand and partially because she doesn’t know how he’s gotten that hard this quickly.

He squirmed under her touch and grabbed her wrist. “Whaddya mean, _Lenny_?” he mocks her lightly. “You’re the one who’s got her hand on my…”

“Which I didn’t mean to do.” She reluctantly lets go of his bulge, and he lets out a muffled whine of disappointment. She mashes around in the space between his knees and finds a bottle, then twists it open.

She takes a pull and stared out the dash toward the moon. “Did you like that?” she asked. “Me saying nice things to you?”

“Who wouldn’t?” he retorts, awkwardly rubbing his neck. But Laverne’s big, wise green eyes take him in with a tilt of her head. “Okay, maybe I like it a little bit in an um…private way.”

Laverne has connected his dots a few moments before, but hearing Lenny actually say it is a heck of a Kodak moment. “It turns you on when people are nice to you?”

He squirms. “Yeah.”

“That’s…interesting,” she says, and is annoyed by the Shirley-ish note of primness in her tone.

“I dunno why. Maybe because I don’t hear nice things about me too much.”

“Aww,” she blurts out. He gives her a miserable look askance, and Laverne can only sigh at the expression on his face. “Len?”

“Wah?” he asks.

“If I do this,” she says, her hand coasting down the front of his coveralls, unbuttoning them, “you can never tell another living soul. Including Squig. _Especially_ Squig.” She reaches down and unzips his fly and tugs the material of his boxers out through the gaping teeth. Petting him through his boxers, she lays the charm on while he stares at her with alarmed eyes.

“You’re such a nice guy, Len,” she says. “And you’re…” she doesn’t have to strain to come up with this one, “handsomer than even Squiggy.”

Lenny’s jaw drops. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” She’d once told him that it was a close contest between the two guys, but in her heart of hearts she knows Lenny is pretty cute. And technically more traditionally aesthetically pleasing than Squiggy. But Squiggy isn’t the one who had ‘picked’ her when they were teenagers, and he isn’t the one who’s been chasing her ever since. He isn't the one who proposed marriage to her when she thought she was pregnant by someone else. Squiggy wasn’t the one she had such an easy kinship with. And she would rather cut her hand off than give Squiggy a handjob.

“But I don’t got his animal magnets,” Lenny protests. “I couldn’t draw a girl to me with a lasso.”

She sighs. “Len, you got one girl here about to stick her hand into your fly. Take it as a win.”

He sticks out his jaw. “Oh yeah? Whatcha like so much about me, anyway?”

“Well,” she says. “Your…eyes are nice.”

“They’re beady.”

Now he sounds like her, when she’s critiquing her own looks. “Len!”

He squirms. “Toldya, I don’t get them much.” 

She takes a deep breath. “You have a nice face. You’re handsome.”

“What…else?” Laverne notices the bulge shifting toward her hand, a sunflower seeking sunshine. Not yet, she decides firmly.

“You have a nice mouth.” He really does – his lips are soft, plump-looking, and she knows for a fact that he understands how to kiss her with them. “And you’re a real good kisser,” she echoes her own thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “And…and your neck is long, and white, and it looks nice with little hickies running up and down it.” The hickey she’d given him last week in an attempt at coaxing him into driving her and Shirley to LeClare for an ice skating show is a faded, pale, strawberry-colored mark staining the side of his throat at the moment, just above a pulse point she knows is particularly sensitive. She leans across the seat to suck on it, and Lenny’s features warp from the ecstasy she gives him, his eyes slamming shut, causing her to notice his eyelashes - pale and red-blond, almost metallic-looking they’re so fair. Lenny’s strong features become a mask of ecstasy and she hunkers in to tease him. In response, his hands flounder before landing – one on her bottom and one flitting across the side of her breast.

Laverne moans into his flesh – knowing she couldn’t talk around the mouthful of it but wanting to pleasure him. She sucked gently on the side of it, her tongue occasionally teasing Lenny’s flesh, until that tempting bulge begins to get even stiffer against her hip.

“And,” she continues, letting him go, “You got a nice chest. It’s solid and warm and wide – but not too wide, y’know? Sexy.” She hides her own surprised reaction against his neck as she realizes she’d called him ‘sexy.’ Well, he likes being praised – let him think he’s sexy. Her hand splays out against his flesh and rubs against that thickness with curiosity in her eyes. 

This is different from feeling up Carmine – Carmine whose body she’s not allowed to touch by grand edict of Shirley, which makes the occasional chance to touch him a fleeting and forbidden celebration. Lenny’s an open playing field, and one she’s always rejected. All of her reasons why – his neediness, his intensity, his grossness – fade away when he touched her nicely, looked at her like she was a queen. She remembers him telling her she’d looked like one, dressed up in that silly tutu for that charity wrestling match. Only Lenny would treat her so nicely.

“Can I uh…?” He gestures toward her breasts with her hand. 

She nods. “Yeah.” The tentative hand holding her right breast loosely strokes along the nipple, and the thick, brown tip of it. She sighs and the somewhat horrified portion of her mind that can’t believe she’s Vode-Oing with Lenny Kosnowski also can’t believe what comes out of her mouth next. “It feels so good when you touch me, Len.” It’s good enough to make her wonder why she fights him off every time he tries. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s finally figured out how important permission is. Maybe because he’s being gentle, and there isn’t Squiggy to fight off at the same time. When she lingers against his chest, the little points of his nipples stiffen and brush against her palm. When she tickles her own thumb back and forth against the tip of it his fingers tighten against her breast and he whines.

Lenny’s eyes open and pin her there with the intensity in him. “Can I kiss you?” he asks – which he has never asked her before after stealing a hundred embraces from her. She nods instead of talking. He melts upward and pulls her back toward him, against the seat cushion. Laverne’s toes curl in her pumps and she yanks him right to her. She pinches his nipple when she wants to be free of it – only to breathe, only to plot her next move - and Lenny’s head falls all the way back, moaning loudly.

“Shirt. Off. Can I?” he asks between gasps. 

She nods. He unbuttons her blouse and she rucks his teeshirt up under the coveralls, until she can feel bare skin and sparse hair. His pale skin glows in the moonlight, contrasting the tanned, olive tone of her own. Lenny has always been a creature from somewhere else – at first an unfathomable martian, then a goofy dork whose brain rested on a plain that was entirely unlike her own but had become, mercifully, comprehensible with experience. Her hands keep sliding lower as he pulls her blouse back and she shrugs it down.

“You’ve got a nice tummy, too,” she says, which makes him snort – because, she supposes, he thinks girls didn’t notice guys that way. But she does, and Lenny’s leanness is appealing, strong, sexy and tempting. 

She already knows what’s about to happen. If Shirley were somewhere nearby, they’d lick their thumbs and Laverne would solemnly swear out loud to never tell another living soul that she was about to blow Lenny Kosnowski in the front seat of his work truck while telling him what a good boy he was between gulps. But Shirley, thankfully and unthankfully, is nowhere to be found. Laverne is on her own, sitting halfway in Lenny’s lap, letting him pull her shirt off and watching his eyes turn into saucers and his jaw drops at the sight of her cleavage. 

It’s not more than what he’s seen when he’s peeped down her blouse or seen her in her slip, but apparently what she’s revealed is enough to start a fire in him. Suddenly she’s pulled toward his face, and he’s nose-down between her breasts, trying to mouth anything that comes within kissing distance. Laverne notices that he didn’t bother to ask her permission this time. It doesn’t matter. The tingling pleasure he gives her spreads across the map of her nerve endings and down her spine. She reaches behind her and unclips her bra and the fabric brushes down his neck as he notices what she’s revealed.

“Pretty,” he mumbles. “Can I?”

She nods. “Please.” Laverne may have begun this little project just to see what kind words could do to Lenny’s cock, but now she wants more, needs more. 

“So good. Your mouth is so warm,” she groans, and he sucks her right nipple into his mouth and laves it with his tongue until she gyrates against his thigh. Yep. Those soft lips feel perfect against her flesh. 

He shifts between her breasts, his tongue and teeth and lips always busy. Laverne feels warmth and liquid. In response, Laverne’s fingers keep roaming downward. “You do got a nice body. I just didn’t wanna tell you that before,” she admits. He flushes this time with the compliment, and her hand finally snakes down from his chest, cupping his crotch.

“Laverne?” it’s a question, not a statement, and one that forces him to abandon her nipple. “Uh, are you sure…?”

“You’re so sweet,” she says, and he groans again. The bulge in her grip twitches its interest, and a devilish smile lights up her eyes. “Lenny…”

His flush has spread across his cheekbones and to the tip of his nose, making him look feverish. “Uh. Yeah, Laverne?”

“I bet you got a big, beautiful cock, don’t you?”

He sputters. “Laverne!” But said cock throbs in her grip and nearly proves her point sight unseen.

“Let me see,” she says, getting off of his lap, pulling him free of his boxers. The little gasp she lets out combines honest shock and unfeigned delight. He’s comfortably big – not insanely, frighteningly huge, but the right mix of girthy and long. Not Fonzie, who had been big enough during their singular petting encounter to ensure she’d come to this encounter with Lenny a technical virgin.

She moans and gives him a tentative lick, surprised to find him clean – salty and musky. Maybe he took a shower in anticipatory hope between work and picking her up? Whatever the answer, against her shoulder, Lenny’s belly goes concave, his noises turn guttural. His eyes have rolled all the way back into his head when she checks his face.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Laverne!” he nearly wails.

“Yes, Lenny?”

_”Please!”_

She kisses him again. “So good.” Licking him with just the tip of her tongue and then kissing the head of his cock, part of her’s impressed with his control. The rest of her wants to see how much of a writhing, weeping mess she can turn him into before he comes. 

Speaking of: “Don’t come yet, Len.”

He lets out a horrendous sounding whine, and she lets go of him entirely. “Lenny, if you come now it’ll be too soon. Be good.”

“Aww,” he complains. Then she feels a big hand land on the stockinged top of her thigh. “Um. Can I touch you?” 

“You mean?”

“Yeah?” 

And there it is. She lies still across him, squirming around so she can look into his eyes. They’re wide, pleading, just a little desperate. And all of her posing, all of her distance, all of her need to control the situation because she’s doing this with Lenny, slides away.

_I solemnly swear I will never tell another living soul that I told Lenny Kosnowski to make me come in the front seat of his truck._

But she doesn’t make it an order. She’s too far gone for that. “Please?” she asks him, and hates her own wheedling tone. 

His grin is wide and his hand skates up the back of her leg so lightly she squirms, finally moving up under her long brown skirt. Then his whole palm’s holding her vulva, and there’s no way he can’t tell how wet she is. She knows he can feel it from the way he throbs in her working fist, and the way he chuckles, low and soft.

“I knew it,” he says.

“What?” she asks.

He lets go, and his knuckles brush their way down the divide. “You’re crazy about me.”

She wants to call him a liar, tell him he’s making way too much of it all, but then his thumb’s rotating against her clit and she can only moan and squeeze his hand way too tightly with her thighs.

Laverne takes this as an excuse to go back to sucking and licking on Lenny, tracing thick veins around to the ridge just below the head of his cock. He’s so hard and points so far northward on his own that she doesn’t need to support him with her hand when she takes him into her mouth and down her throat. This is the first time she’s even attempted such an act, and glances nervously into his face, hoping she’s not doing it badly.

The look on Lenny’s face suggests that there might be no way to do this poorly. The thumb nestled against her labia becomes a hundred times more serious, and his fingers find the edge of her panties and pull them to the left, exposing her. Cool air, followed by the warmth of his palm, hit Laverne’s senses at the same time. The contrast makes her moan around his cock and his hips buck in response. 

She gags on him and pulls away, and above her there’s a murmured apology, his left hand patting her shoulders. Laverne’s own hips buck back when his thumb finds her clit. With nothing between his finger and the cloth she can feel everything more keenly, and it’s so strange, so new, so different. 

She almost bites him when she takes him back into her mouth, but Lenny doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t apologize. She slips one hand into his boxers to rub his balls and the rhythm only shifts slightly.

 _So good to me,_ she thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really is. She brushes him again with the tip of her tongue before taking him back down her throat. It’s smoother this time, easier. She sucks down on him experimentally and his thighs turn into iron bars against her.

She’s torturing him at this point, and realizes suddenly that that torture isn’t fair. Her orgasm can wait. Her name is a warning sign on his lips and she pulls off with a loud pop. She speeds her fist and meets his eyes.

The joy in his expression is mixed with pain and lust. His eyes are barely open. “Can I?” he growls.

“Mmm hmm. You’re so good, Lenny, you’re so big and handsome and I want you to come. Come for me!” Then she pops the head of his cock back into her mouth and laves the head one more time, then hums around him deliberately. Part of Laverne wonders if she’s gone too Peyton Place on the boy – but whatever she’s said, whatever she’s done, it’s led her to this one crystal moment.

His voice is a hoarse shout and his hips jerk forward, pushing himself deeper down her throat. Somehow she doesn’t choke in surprise this time, even as he pulses within her. Lenny comes hard enough to spatter against her tonsils, the back of her mouth, and it’s a strange feeling, swallowing around him while he throbs and pulses and spills against her, trying to remember how to breathe. Her tongue lashes out against the head of him, collecting every drop. Warmth fills her stomach, comforting and exciting at the same time.

She releases him from her mouth, lets go of his balls, when he squirms away from her touch. Then his fingers brush through her hairspray stiffened hair. “Thanks, Laverne.”

Now his thumb rocks back and forth right against her clit, and Laverne’s own thighs clasp his hand. The tension ratchets upward quickly, and she rubs her bare breasts against the cool leather of the truck’s seat. He keeps alternating wide circles with that rocking motion, and her hips move against him instinctively, thoughtfully. He shifts to press a finger into her, then immediately returns to stimulating her clitoris upon realizing she is untried. 

Laverne wishes she’d had the previous courage to use a hairbrush handle on herself - anything - just to feel the pressure of his fingers inside of her. No, something far bigger, she thinks wildly, knowing it’s too soon, that tonight they won’t.

“You’re so beautiful, Laverne,” he says.

Now she squirms her embarrassment. “Len…”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes and pretty hair. You got a great smile, and a great figure. You’re tougher than me, and you’re so smart…” his fingers speed up.

“I am not. And I’ve got a….”

He kisses her between the shoulder blades. “You’re perfect.”

To her embarrassment, this is how she comes – moaning low in her throat, thrusting back into his cupping hands, listening to his enthusiastic, encouraging noises.

Hours seem to pass by before she can move again. When she does, they immediately lock eyes. Laverne wiggles an eyebrow at him. He giggles, and for once she doesn’t scold him to stop. His left hand traces upward, lightly calloused, over her leg after he straightens her panties. 

After it’s withdrawn from under her skirt, it’s bitten just before he sucks at the tips of his fingers, tasting her. 

“You really do taste great. I gotta eat you out before I die, Laverne.”

“That’d be…nice.” She sits up and straightens her skirt, groping around beside him for her bra. He finds it with his free hand, and hand it back. She fumbles around, getting it back on, thinking all the while about the look on his face the first time he saw her breasts. With the fog of hormones cleared away, it’s a little more embarrassing to be that exposed in her needs before him. But she wants that – wants even more from him. Not tonight though – if she’s out any later Shirley will worry, and Laverne’s planning on sleeping in. So she buttons up her blouse while he fixes himself.

Dressing, for him, is a lot simpler. Those coveralls have eliminated a multitude of sins before and they will again. When he’s done, he reaches out for her and she snuggles up to his side.

For a minute, Laverne’s at peace. It’s the kind of animal peace worth riding home in cold, wet panties for. But then a headlight cuts through the darkness, and she remembers what she’s doing, who she’s with, and sits up, embarrassed. 

“Uh…guess we oughta get home,” he says. She listens to the engine catch and puts her seatbelt back on.

She’ll worry about what she’s just done – what comes next – later on.


End file.
